


Against All Odds

by RedVelvetWings



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedVelvetWings/pseuds/RedVelvetWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmates exist. Every one of us carries a watch, a countdown on the inside of their stronger hands wrist, which counts down the years, months, days, minutes and seconds till you’ll meet your soulmate. It’s just the brush of one hand against another, shoulders bumping together or just the eye contact with a stranger and then your timer is run out of time and you know when you look up again, that it’s her or him. </p><p>James Bond is twenty years old when his timer runs out. But it's on a busy tube platform during rush hour and there is just no way he can identify his soulmate. But when he sees a crying boy standing on the platform he doesn't hesitate and helps him find his mother.<br/>Years later Bond meets Q and he reminds him of that boy from all those years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against All Odds

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed that there were quite a lot Soulmates AU in the 00q fandom, but I hadn't read one where they have timers.  
> So here you have what I came up with. I hope you'll like it.

Soulmates. Yes, they exist. Every one of us carries a watch, a countdown on the inside of their stronger hands wrist, which counts down the years, months, days, minutes and seconds till you’ll meet your soulmate. It’s just the brush of one hand against another, shoulders bumping together or just the eye contact with a stranger and then your timer is run out of time and you know when you look up again, that it’s her or him. 

Not everyone finds their soulmate. Not with the rush we are all in nowadays. Some just down care about the countdown, laugh about the idea of a soulmate. Someone you’re destined to be with and just live their life as if soulmates don’t exist. 

James Bond is twenty years old when his timer shows only five more minutes till he’ll meet his soulmate. He looks at the watch at his other wrist and curses. He has to take the next tube or he’ll be late, but it’s rush hour and the instant he steps on the platform he knows, that life once more just isn’t going to be fair. 

People upon people are lining the platform. James looks at his timer, the numbers glowing faintly red under his skin as the seconds speed away. Only two more minutes left. And then the tube comes rattling into the station and people are filing out of the wagons, others filing in. 15 seconds left. James is frantic. He is supposed to take the bloody tube, but he can’t, not now. People are shoving him about. And he just wouldn’t know who his soulmate was in his crowd. A little boy brushes past him, his unruly brown curls brushing James’ fingertip. On the other side a man shoves him out of the way and he catches the eyes of a woman on the other end of the platform. He looks at his timer and sees the bleak, grey zeros staring back at him. It’s over. He’s lot his soulmate and every chance of ever finding him again. 

James sighs, rubs his hands over his face and thinks, that life just never has been fair to him. First his parents die and now life is so cruel to take the only other person that would have ever truly been there for him. 

The platform has quieted down. The tube has rattled out of the station. He is just about to leave and go back to his hotel to meet up with the others later, when he sees the small boy from earlier, standing a few feet away from him, crying. His unruly head of curls is tousled by the small fist gripping stands and strands of hair. His crying is heart breaking, but no one on the platform seems to pay the small boy any mind. 

It was quick decision about which he doesn’t think long. He walks over to the boy an kneels down in front of him.

“Hello, there. What happened? Why are you crying?”, he asks the boy softly. Greenish-grey eyes look up at him. The boy’s cheeks are red and tearstained and it just breaks James’ heart anew. He rubs his hand over his eyes, the small fists rubbing furiously at his eyes, making the reddening even worse. 

“My mum, she’s gone. I can’t find her.”, the boy sobs and James just wants to hug him very badly at that moment, which is a novelty in itself. 

“Alright, I’ll help you find her. How does that sound?”, James asks and the boy just nods, his sobs growing less. “What’s your name? My name is James.” He holds out his hand so the boy could shake it. Small finger curl around his and James has to smile as the small boy looks at him. “My name is Tristan, nice to meet you.” There is a small smile playing around Tristan’s lips and James needs to supress the urge to tousle the boy’s hair even more. “Alright, Tristan, than let’s see what we can do.”

They go to the entrance of the station. On the way Tristan tells him, that his mother’s name is Kathrine Elizabeth Thorn. It takes James a couple of seconds to place the name, but finally his brain connects the dots. She is an opera singer for this year’s season at the Royal Opera at Covent Garden. 

Tristan tells him how she is a very nice mum and that he loves her very much. She teaches him how to play piano and how she sometimes, when she’s got the time, sings for him. He tells him, how he likes singing, too and that his mother always says that he is a very smart boy. 

James looks down a Tristan, the boys fingers still curled around three of his larger ones. He grows a bit melancholy, thinking about his parents and how he had loved them just as much as Tristan loved his mother. He hopes life would turn out better for the boy than it had for him. 

They find a police man at the highest level of the tube station and James just wants explains the situation when Tristan tugs at his finger. He looks down at the boy when he hears it. “Tristan, Tristan, where are you?! Tristan!” A woman in her mid-thirties is rushing through the station calling out for the little boy still clutching his fingers. 

“Mummy, I’m here.”, Tristan calls out and the woman rushes over to where they are standing. James can see how relived she is when she kneels down and hugs the boy to her chest. Tristan’s arms go around her neck as he hugs her back, his cheek resting on his mothers shoulder. “Thank god I found you.”, she say, still a bit breathless, tugging a strand of her long wavy brown hair behind her ear.

She gets up and looks at James. “Thank you for taking care of him. I really don’t know how we got separated, but thank you.” She smiles at James. It’s an honest, grateful smile and James smiles back at her. “No problem.”

“Alright, I guess we have to leave now. I am already late for rehearsal. I’m sorry.” She smiles holding out her hand. “It was nice meeting you. Thank you.” James nods and says his goodbye as well, before he crouches down in front of Tristan again. 

“Goodbye, Tristan.”, he says, expecting nothing more than a goodbye from the boy. So he is a bit taken aback when Tristan hugs him. His small arms around James neck. “Goodbye, James. Maybe we’ll meet again.”, the boy whispers, before letting go. 

Kathrine and Tristan leave then, the boy clutching his mother’s hand. But just before he disappears around the corner, Tristan turns around to look at him again and waves.  
James smiles as the boy disappears around the corner, but his feelings are conflicted. On one side the warm feeling and glow that Tristan had somehow brought, on the other the feeling of utter lose, that losing the chance of meeting his soulmate had felt behind. 

When James gets recruited by the MI6 at the age of thirty his files say that his soulmate is dead. James knows better than to say anything, but he knows better. The zeros on his wrist are still the same bleak grey, they were on the day he meet Tristan and lost his soulmate, not the bold back zeros which speak of a deceased soulmate. 

James becomes an agent and lives a life as if his soulmate really died. He doesn’t hold on to the idea of a fulfilled happy life anymore. Then he meets Vesper and thinks maybe he can be happy eventually, but life just doesn’t let him have his happiness and takes Vesper away, just like everyone else. 

Bond is fairly battered and broken when he meets Q in the National Gallery. The head of unruly brown curls remind him of the boy he’s meet all those year ago. Tristan. He smiles and teases his new Quartermaster, but his thoughts really are with that boy and James wonders what’s become of him. 

Bond eyes meet Q’s greenish-grey one and there is that warm feeling from so many years ago. The feeling Tristan had left behind. He feels it sliding under his skin. It’s warm and slow moving like honey. But relationally it just doesn’t make sense. Tristan was into music, not science, not computers. And still, here in front of him, sits a man that just could be the boy, Bond had helped. He dismisses the thought and goes on his mission, but his thoughts often wander back to Q. The mission turns pear-shaped and Q is there to help him. He doesn’t question his decision, he just does what needs doing and Bond is grateful.

It takes him a good month to be back on track after Skyfall. Q is still there. Delegating his minions and Bond finds himself spending more and more time down in Q Branch when he is off mission. He admires Q’s slender form, the really nice behind and Q’s bantering. He is beautiful, Bond finds himself thinking more than once, before shoving the thought out of his mind. 

It doesn’t take long and Bond is asking Q questions about his personal life and Q just laughs and questions his motive. A day later Bond tries again and Q just smiles and asks, “Why would you want to get to know me?” Bond ponders on that for a second. He can’t tell Q the truth, but he doesn’t want to lie either. “You just seem like an interesting person.”, he answers and leans against the edge of Q’s workstation arms crossed over his chest as Q keeps typing on his computer. ”Yeah, right.”, Q say sarcastically, still not looking up from his computer. “Why would you want to know whether or not I play an instrument?” Q looks at him then, greenish-grey eyes trained on Bond. “Maybe I’m just training my skills of deduction.”, he responds playfully and he knows Q is probably tempted to roll his eyes. “I played the piano, double-oh-seven. Satisfied?”, he asked, looking back down to his computer, his long, slender fingers dancing over the keys. “Now shove over, I need this space. Can’t you bother someone else?” Bond leaves, but notices a few of Q’s minions whispering.

From there one they make steady progress. Q opens up to him more and more and Bond finds Q’s gaze always lingering slightly longer than necessary. He has also picked up on Q’s habit to lick his lips when he’s nervous. 

By now it’s quite obvious that there is some kind of mutual attraction there. Bond could probably ask Q now whether he wants to go to dinner with him and Q wouldn’t hesitate. Neither would Bond if Q asked. 

But there is still the possibility that Q is Tristan and that would just drastically change everything. Bond has spent enough time thinking about that day to have concluded, that maybe Tristan could have been his soulmate. 

He looks down at the bleak grey zeros again as he puts down the gun he has been testing for Q. “So you let yours get away, too.” It’s not a question, but a statement. “Not on purpose”, James tells Q, his eyes looking at the other mans exposed forearm. Creamy white skin showing the same bleak grey zeros. “Why are you showing me?”, Bond asks bewildered and Q smiles at him. “I for one thought we had become something like friends.” Q pulls down the sleeve of his shirt and cardigan. “When did yours run out?” James blue eyes meet Q’s green ones. “I was very young. Still a child. No one really knows because I wasn’t with anyone how could have told me about it and I just remember bits.” Q smiles to himself at the memory. “I know I was terrified. I had lost my mother and then there was this young man. He helped me. I believe it’s him. It’s all rather foggy and I don’t remember his face or his name, but I had this feeling. Like I was loved and save…” Q drifted of getting lost in the memory and James’ heart probably skipped a few beats. Bloody fucking hell, James thinks and looks at Tristan. He might just be the person James has been looking for. And if he’s honest, he knew when he saw him that first time at the gallery. Q’s expression shifts from that content happy smile to a more sombre expression. “Q, I think…”, he is cut of then as Q’s phone rings. Q digs it out of his pocket and answers. “What?! You can’t be serious!? Shit, wait I’m coming. WAIT!”, Q yells at the phone and runs out of the door. 

“Q, wait it’s important!”, James calls after him, but his quartermaster is already out of the door and the heavy metal door snaps shut. 

James runs after Q, but never gets to him. At least not on that day and not for two more weeks as Mallory assigns him a mission of utmost importance and he has to leave without knowing what had made Q rush out of the shooting range. 

He wants to have this conversation though. Wants to know where they are standing. Whether it could actually be. So James breaks into Q’s flat. It’s not all that difficult, really. For the genius Q is, his security is slack and actually really crappy, but it makes James’ job easier. 

He opens the door and is greeted by clutter and two overly eager cats. James closes the door and wanders around the flat. There are books upon books on the shelves in the living room. The kitchen is small and littered with dirty plates. The coffee table as all kinds of spare parts strewn over it as well as a bunch a blue prints of some of the prototypes James knows Q’s working on. 

He sits down on the sofa and the two cats instantly make themselves at home in his lap and next to him. Sitting there on the sofa, one hand stroking the cat currently in his lap, he thinks of Q. The way he smiles. The way his green eyes shine, when one of his prototypes finally work. The way he looks at James when he says something that Q thinks is totally ridiculous. He thinks about Q’s lips. Red and full, glistening when he’s just liked them. He has wanted to kiss those lips for a long time now. Imagined how Q’s lips would feel against his. He has never felt this subtle burning, longing for someone. He has never spent so much time imagining instead of having what he wanted.

The sun slowly sets over London and colours Q’s flat in burning oranges and reds. A key turns in the lock and seconds later Q steps into his flat. Both cats are up in an instant, meowing and climbing up Q’s trouser legs. 

“Hey you two.”, he greets them and picks the grey one up to stroke her fur. He puts his keys on the sideboard, still cradling the cat in his arms. He turns on the light and James can see his shock. He stands there looking at James, the cat purring in his arms, when his gaze turns stern and cold. “What are you doing here? Why are you here, Bond? How do you know where I live?” James sees the fury, hears it, too and still he can’t help but say: “So many questions. Why don’t you sit down?” Q puts the cat down and walks over to the sofa. He doesn’t sit down though. He stands in front of James and says: “Get out.” His voice is stern and cold. “Q listen to me. We have to…”, James begins but Q cuts him off. “No, we don’t have to do anything. Who do you think you are barging into my flat as if you have every right to be here? Leave.” James gets up, but he doesn’t leave, he just stands in front of Q, looking at him, his blue eyes trained on the man in front of him. Shortly his eyes wander to those lips he has been thinking about and there is the subtle burn of longing again that he became to associate with his quartermaster. “Q, please listen…”

“No, leave.”

“Q, please.”

“No, I don’t want to listen to you. Leave right bloody now or I swear to god I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” They are more or less shouting at each other now. “I say this one last time leave.”

“Q.”

“No!”

“Tristan.” It’s a seconds’ flicker of Q’s walls falling away and James can see all the emotions Q has held pend up. But it’s so short and the walls come crashing down again. “Why are you calling me that?”, he asks his voice still full of anger. 

“I think you know why.”, James responds, barely whispering and takes Tristan’s hand. He feels how the other man wants to pull away, but James intertwines their fingers. He can fell that warm feeling stronger now, starting at their touching palms, reaching out into the rest of his body. More prominent, warmer, almost burning. He knows Tristan feels it to. He sees his walls dropping. Sees his body sag a little, all the tension gone from his muscles. His curls hanging into his face, obscuring the emotions on his face.  
James reaches out, strokes over Tristan’s cheek and whispers: “Look at me.” And there they are. Those greenish-grey eyes of the boy James meet when he was only twenty years old. 

“James, I…”, Tristan’s voice breaks and his head falls to James’ shoulder. “I never thought I’d find you.” A sob shakes the frame of the younger man and James gives in to the urge to run his hands through Tristan’s hair. “I know, I didn’t think so either, but we found each other. Somehow against all odds, we did.” 

“No, this can’t be. This is just some ploy to finally bring me down to my knees. Don’t make me believe you just so you can tear me down, Bond.” James knows Tristan is crying. He doesn’t know why, but he wants him to stop, because it sounds as heart-breaking as it did all those years ago. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Why would I?” James’ free hand his rubbing over Tristan’s shoulders, trying to sooth him. 

“Well to shag of course. I told you about how I lost my soulmate and now you want to exploit that.” Tristan is still sobbing against his chest. James cups his cheek and titles up his head so he can look at Tristan. “No, you don’t believe that yourself, Tristan Throne, son of Kathrine Elizabeth Throne, the opera singer, who sung at the Royal Opera in Covent Garden in 1988.” The younger man looks at him in bewilderment. “Your mother taught you to play the piano and she sung to you whenever she found the time. She always told you what a clever boy you were and you loved her very much.” Tristan’s eyes shine with more tears and James can’t help but think that it was really not good that Tristan always cries, when Q never does. 

“You. James. I remember now.” The agent nods, a small smile stretching his lips. “Yes.” He can see it sinking in. The realization that James isn’t lying.  
James pulls Tristan down onto the sofa. He scoops one arms around the younger man’s waist and pulls him close to his side. Tristan’s head resting against James’ shoulder. Their intertwined hands resting on James’ stomach. 

“Why haven’t you told me earlier?”, Tristan asks, his voice still a little raspy. Their eyes meet and James smiles. “I wasn’t sure. Not for a long time. I had this gut feeling. Yes. But I needed proof. So I asked you about the thing you told me, you like, when we meet.” He was stroking patterns onto Tristan’s skin at his hipbone, remembering their first meeting.  
“Tell me about it.” Tristan looks at him, hopeful and James has the urge to kiss him, but doesn’t. So he tells the younger man about how they met for the first time. How he had missed his chance and hadn’t even considered that the boy might have been his soulmate until weeks later. Tristan smiles at James and tells him everything he remembers of that day. Tells him how his mother had constantly asked about James. She had thrown a fit when she had seen that Tristan’s timer had run out.  
James listens to Tristan relaying his story of the events. While listening to Tristan’s story the agent looks at his soulmate and studies his face. How wrinkles form at the corner of his eyes when Tristan genuinely laughs. He notices the dimple on his left cheek that appears when he smile at James. His fingers stoke over these places. Smooth skin under calloused hands. 

Tristan is quite now. He just looks at James, their eyes locked before Tristan’s gaze wanders to James’ lips, lingers there and wander back up again. The younger man bits his lips. “You know, I really want to kiss you right now.” Tristan averts his gaze, long black lashes dipping. One of Tristan’s hands is resting against James’ chest. Without further notice, the hand grips the fabric of James’ shirt and pulls him close, closing the distance. Tristan’s lips are warm against his. It’s just a soft press of lips against lips. James hand finds his way back into the brown curls and he deepens the kiss, nipping at Tristan’s bottom lip. He gives in willingly, letting James take control. He uses the opportunity and sweeps in, his tongue finding its way into Tristan’s mouth, exploring, caressing. He nibbles at the younger man’s lower lip and Tristan’s arms loop around James’ neck, one hand playing with the stands at the nape of the agents’ neck. He deepens the kiss again, making the younger man shudder. James breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Tristan’s. They take their time to catch their breaths. James looks at those green eyes of his soulmate and smiles. His gaze wander to the hand that is still fisted in his shirt when he sees the red design looping around Tristan’s wrist. 

“Tristan, look.” James takes the younger man’s hand and shoves up the sleeve to revel the design. It’s a red vine looping around Tristan’s wrist. The timer and its bleak grey zeros are gone. “Show me yours.” James shoves up his sleeve and revels an identical design around his right wrist. “I guess this leaves no doubt anymore.”, Tristan says and grins at James. “No, I guess not.”, the older man replies and swoops in to steal another kiss. 

In that moment James forgets about the past. About how life never seemed fair, because in the end, life had given him Tristan. Against all odds.


End file.
